


The Vain Prince

by Ollieollieupandfree



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, How Do I Tag, Story within a Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 22:26:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12220212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ollieollieupandfree/pseuds/Ollieollieupandfree
Summary: When Pippin asks for a story, the Fellowship get to know more about their Elven companion then they ever expected.





	The Vain Prince

The Vain Prince

 

Pippin tugged lightly on Legolas’ tunic. The young hobbit looked up pleadingly at the elf, his eyes begging. Legolas looked back down, his blue doe eyes meeting Pippin’s green ones. Legolas had a very innocent look about him, with beautiful blue eyes and perfect golden ringlets that framed a lovely heart shaped face and tall frame, though still laced with a small amount of baby fat. Pippin didn’t know why the others looked at him strangely when he voiced such. He was a hobbit. He found all those things absolutely perfect.

 

‘May I assist you, Pippin?’ asked Legolas, his full lips lifting into a smile.

 

‘Yes,’ said Pippin, ‘See, Strider said that you tell the most wonderful stories. And I think a good story would be perfect to lift our tired spirits.’ Pippin smiled hopefully. It had been seven days since the Fellowship had left Rivendell, and all were tired and gloomy- save perhaps their elven companion who could often be seen dancing alone and musicless, both when walking and when they rested.

 

‘I suppose I should. What type of a story would you like?’ Legolas directed his question to the entire Fellowship, ‘A happy story? A sad story? A story about love? A story about war?’

 

‘I should like to hear a story of elves,’ said Sam from his position by the fire, his voice wistful. To Sam, Legolas was everything an elf should be. He had long, golden hair and pale ethereal skin and eyes that shone blue and a slender, almost female frame. 

 

‘All right. A story about elves is all well and good, but I will need a bit more detail to narrow it down,’ said Legolas.

 

‘A story about royalty,’ said Merry, his gaze pleading.

 

‘A story about elves and royalty,’ said Legolas decidedly.

 

‘Maybe a tragic story?’ asked Pippin, for he much enjoyed tragic stories. Legolas exchanged a look with Gandalf.

 

‘I think I know the perfect story. Hush now, so I may tell you the story of the vain prince.’

 

❃❁❀✤✣✿✾❋❊❃❁❀✤✣✿✾❋❊❃❁❀✤✣✿✾❋❊❃❁❀✤✣✿✾❋❊❃❁❀✤✣✿✾❋❊

 

Elves are, by nature, quite vain creatures. However, this prince was not the charmingly vain creature that elves are known to be. No, the Prince was arrogant and rude. He had no respect for his elders or his ancestors and thought himself high above all the other first born.

 

Now, we must give credit where credit was due, the Prince was often described as exactly what the Valar had envisioned when creating the first born. He had hair the color of moonlight that hung in a waterfall of perfect ringlets down to the small of his back, and soft skin the color of honey milk tea. His eyes were a pure silver that shone blue when he was cast upon by the moonlight. His mind was sharper than his precious mithril knives, and he showed it with pride. He was quick and clever and beautiful, skilled in song and dance and the told word and in his fighting.

 

Alas, the Prince cared naught for his people or his family. He had two older brothers who took after their mother in looks. They had wine red hair and high cheekbones and skin the color of tree bark, and they were kind and skilled in fighting and loved by their people. The Prince thought nothing of his brothers, so alike they were in face that the Prince did not even bother to learn which name belonged to which brother.

 

One day, as the Prince wandered the beautiful forest of his kingdom, he wandered upon two old Men in the forest wearing tattered and faded blue robes. The prince, thinking himself above such matters, did not recognize that these were, in fact, not Men but Istari. They were Morinehter and Rómestámo, the blue wizards. These Istar were good and kind, and they had oft heard of the prince and his beauty. The Istar had assumed the prince to be kind at first because, as was the nature of the elves, they thought that the prince would be as good as he was beautiful. This was not the truth, as the Istar were soon to discover. They had heard tales of the prince’s dark soul. How he thought himself high enough to be a valar, how he laughed at the pain of others, thinking them deserving because they were not as beautiful as he. 

 

But, being kind-hearted Istar, they had hope for the young prince. They had heard tales from the grey pilgrim that the prince was once kind, that he was once as kind as he was beautiful. Mithrandir had known the prince since he was born, since his mother died. He believed the prince to be capable of repentance. And so they found themselves disguised as injured, elder, Men in need of help. They threw themselves into his path, moaning in pain. The prince threw himself away from the Istar, a look of shock on his face. 

 

‘Ai Valar!’ cried The Prince, scrambling to the his feet, ‘What are you doing here? Men are not permitted in this part of the forest!’ 

 

‘Please. . . ‘ moaned the Istar.

 

‘We were attacked. . . ‘ moaned the other. The Prince’s lips curled up as he looked at the Istar in disgust.

 

‘Get your filthy hands off of me,’ said The Prince, kicking the Istar’s hands away from his bare feet. He reared back, a sneer on his face, ‘If you were not so weak, you would not be attacked.’

 

‘You know naught of what you speak,’ said the Istar.

 

‘I know perfectly what I speak of. Men are weak. They always have been, ever since the start of time,’ said The Prince in reply, ‘You are weak, and you deserve whatever punishment that you receive. You are naught in this world, and no one shall mourn when you pass.’

 

At the Prince’s cruel words, the Istar rose up and took their natural form. No longer were they injured old Men. Though their beards were long, they were strong and young of heart. The Prince backed away from the men in shock, his beautiful features twisted into those of awe at the appearance of the men he had heard about from Mithrandir. 

 

‘You are black of heart, young prince,’ The Istar said in unison, ‘We have seen it, and we can see that you shall never change without the interference of others.’

 

The Prince tried to run away from the Istar, but found himself stuck fast.

 

‘Prince  Laiqalassë of the Greenwood Realm, High Priest of Manwë and favoured of Elbereth Gilthoniel. Your soul is unworthy of serving our highest gods,’ the Istar said. The Prince’s eyes widened. He was not the eldest of Thranduil’s son, nor the second eldest. There was no part in Court for him. The only position he would ever achieve was that of a high priest, and he was highest of them all. If his position were to be stripped from him, he would have naught but a meaningless title.

 

‘No!’ The Prince gasped, his eyes wide. He fell to his knees in supplication before the Istar, his face raised to look at them, pleas falling off his lips like diamonds dripped from a dragon’s scale, ‘Please, I beg of you. This title is all I have. If you take it from me, I am nothing.’

 

‘You were nothing before. Nothing but a cruel villain,’ the Istar said, ‘But Mithrandir seems to believe you are capable of being more. So we will give you a chance.’ The Prince’s lips lifted in a smile as he registered the words.

 

‘Anything! Anything I can do, I will,’ said the Prince.

 

‘Five hundred years you will have to amend your ways. Should you be judged as pure of heart again after these years, your beauty will be returned to you and your position will never be threatened again,’ the Istar said.

 

‘My beauty. . . ?’ the Prince said, confused.

 

The Prince fell not a moment later. A blood chilling scream fell from the prince’s lips as his body was consumed. He had felt this heat but once before- five hundred years ago, when his mother was killed by a dragon. The dragon flames consumed his skin, burning it away. He could hear as his bones snapped and rearranged themselves. The Prince lay there for what seemed hours as flames consumed his body and his beauty washed itself away. When he was finally free from the flames, the Istar were gone and he dragged himself to a nearby stream. A scream ripped his already painful throat as he gazed at what he had become. His skin was completely burnt away, revealing the muscles and tendons behind his skin. His eyes were a horrific red and bloody tears made their way down his skinless cheeks. He looked down at his skilled hands. The fingers were broken and twisted, only adding to his macabre appearance. The Prince laid down in the water, sobs wringing his frame. 

 

It was days later that someone happened upon the Prince. Mithrandir had been on his way to the palace to see his favorite elf- the Prince himself. If asked, Mithrandir could not name what made him like the Prince. It was something about his personality. His true personality, the one that compelled him to teach the children of the village to dance and read, the one that compelled him to tutor the young Men of Laketown the bow and the sword. The one that made the Prince mourn for five hundred years at the death of his mother. The personality that was twisted into the who the Prince was now, and the one that Mithrandir knew lived in the prince even now.

 

‘Mellon nin!’ cried Mithrandir, kneeling next to the deformed Prince. The Prince tried to push himself to his knees to face his friend, but he cried out in pain through a torn up throat and fell to his face again.

 

‘Mellon nin, what happened?’ Mithrandir asked, ‘Who did this to you?’

 

‘I did. . . ‘ said the Prince, his voice rough with the state of his voice.

 

‘Mellon nin. . . ‘ Mithrandir said, ‘I am sorry that this happened to you. I am sorry that I let you become so blackened that this was the result. We must take you back to the palace.’

 

‘No!’ objected the Prince, ‘No, you cannot! My adar mustn’t see me like this! It would break his heart, I cannot allow that to happen. I will pain him no more,’ Mithrandir looked on in shock as the Prince’s left hand righted itself. The bones snapped back into place, the skin regrew and the wrist turned into where it should be.

 

‘Mellon nin, it would break his heart even more to know that he lost you. Were you to return, Thranduil would at least know you were alive. Please, mellon nin, allow me to return with you to the palace,’ said Mithrandir, knowing that in the comfort of the palace there was something that he could do to help his friend. 

 

The Prince nodded and without further ado, they were off. Mithrandir had no trouble sneaking the Prince through the kingdom and into his rooms. The king was notified of what had happened almost immediately upon their arrival, and he fell to his knees before Mithrandir.

 

‘Mithrandir!’ Thranduil cried, ‘Please? Is there nothing you can do? He is my son! He is my baby, the last gift I have from his mother. He is my baby. . . this is my fault. I shouldn’t have let him fall this far. Please, Mithrandir, do something? This is my fault! I will do whatever I can to help him, please, do something!’

 

‘Do you ask this as a king for a prince? A general for a soldier?’ Mithrandir asked, though he knew the answer.

 

‘Neither!’ Thranduil cried, ‘I ask this as a father for a son! I  _ beg _ this as a father for a son!’ 

 

Mithrandir sighed, ‘There is one thing I can do, but it would affect the whole household. Gather your eldest sons, and we will see what I can do.’ Thranduil was quick to inform the twins of what had occurred to their younger brother. Though he no longer cared for them, the same could not be said for them. They were willing to do anything to bring back their young sibling. 

 

‘No. . . ‘ the Prince moaned when he was told what would happen, ‘I will not allow you to do this. I caused this myself. I realize that now. This is my fault entirely, and I cannot allow you to take on my curse.’

 

‘It is not your choice, ion nin. We will do this because we must,’ Thranduil said.

 

‘Indeed,’ the twins said, ‘We will not allow you to suffer so. You are better than you act, we know this. You will learn to be as you were before, with or without this curse.’

 

‘Besides,’ interjected Mithrandir, ‘You will not be completely free of this curse. Your pain will be gone, but your appearance will still be as marred as before. But there is something else I can do for that.’

 

‘What is it?’ asked Thranduil.

 

‘You all will take a fraction of this appearance. He will be free from the curse, but you will bare it,’ answered Mithrandir.

 

‘NO!’ the Prince screamed, his hand reaching out and grabbed Mithrandir’s, ‘Do not! I will not allow you to free me of this, but curse my family!’

 

‘Ion nin, we must!’ Thranduil pleaded.

 

‘No! Take on a fraction of my appearance, not all! Leave the pain, make my family suffer as little as possible, if they are insistent on doing this fool’s errand,’ said the Prince, having seen the error of his way when he lay in the forest.

 

‘I. . . I can do that. You will take a fraction of his marred appearance,’ Gandalf said to the family. They nodded, and though the Prince still protested he allowed it.

 

It was weeks later that the royal family awoke. Thranduil flinched, but he did not cry when he saw how half of his face missed its skin and how his eye on that side would see no more. He did not cry as he looked at his marred visage. He did not cry when he saw the twisted, ruined legs of the eldest twin. He did not cry when the younger twin could not return his hug for a lack of arms. He did not cry as he looked at the still marred face of his youngest, or how his lacked any and all skin it ever had. He cried when his youngest woke. He cried when his youngest cried at what he had done, not only to himself but to his family. He cried when he gazed into the red stained eyes that he had known as blue since the boy was little more than a babe. He cried when his youngest son called the twins by their names for what seemed forever, he cried as the twins crowded the youngest child and cried with him. 

 

‘Ada,’ his youngest said, placing his hand on the king’s cheek, ‘I am sorry I have done this.’ 

 

‘Do not be sorry, tithen las, for the time for apologies has long since passed. Just be better. Make sure you do not do this again,’ Thranduil answered, ‘I love you, ion nin.’

 

‘I love you, too, ada. I love you all.’ 

 

❃❁❀✤✣✿✾❋❊❃❁❀✤✣✿✾❋❊❃❁❀✤✣✿✾❋❊❃❁❀✤✣✿✾❋❊❃❁❀✤✣✿✾❋❊

 

‘What about the prince? What happened to him? Did he get better?’ Pippin asked.

 

‘He is working on it. He is getting better,’ Legolas answered.

 

‘Legolas,’ said Merry, ‘Do the other elves know what the royal family looks like? How do they hide it?’

 

‘The prince prayed to  Manwë and Elbereth, knowing that they had long forgiven him his transgressions. The Valar are ever forgiving, and he is, always has, and always will be favored of Elbereth. She convinced her husband to help him. He did not ask for himself, but for his family. Manwë granted them a glamor,’ answered Legolas.

 

‘What’s a glamor?’ Sam asked.

 

‘It is an illusion,’ answered Legolas, ‘It gives the appearance that there is nothing wrong. The King’s face appears as it always was to all but his family. The eldest twin’s legs appear as they always were. Alas, the younger twin’s arms could not be replaced. This is all well, as he was never one for fighting. After all, dancing and singing do not require the use of arms.’

 

‘And the youngest?’ Boromir asked.

 

‘The youngest appears to everyone differently. So beautiful was he that his original beauty could not be mimicked by even the Valar. He appears as what everyone finds most beautiful,’ answered the elf, looking to Gandalf.

 

Pippin’s eyes widened as he registered the elf’s words. Elves were naturally slender, even as children. It is not possible for an elf to have baby fat. Legolas looked exactly like what Pippin would find most beautiful.

 

‘You’re the prince!’ Pippin gasped, ‘You’re the prince in the story! That’s why you were so insistent on coming on this quest!’

 

Legolas laughed, though there was no mirth in his voice, ‘You are correct, young Peregrin. Time is running out, and if I do not fix my soul my family will be stuck as they are till they die. This is no longer about me, I could live forever knowing I did not save myself, and that I was stuck as I am forever. But I cannot allow my family to live forever marred by my curse.’

 

‘But what if you die?’ asked Sam.

 

‘If I die, the curse is lifted and my family is free. Whether this quest saves my soul or I die, my family will be saved regardless of the events.’

 

‘I think,’ Sam said, ‘Given that you are risking your life to not only help yourself and your family, but the whole of Middle Earth, that your soul is already pure. Maybe. . . your family is already safe?’

 

‘Mayhap, Master Samwise, mayhap.’

 

❃❁❀✤✣✿✾❋❊❃❁❀✤✣✿✾❋❊❃❁❀✤✣✿✾❋❊❃❁❀✤✣✿✾❋❊❃❁❀✤✣✿✾❋❊

 

_ In Gondor, After the War of The Ring _

 

Gondor was in a state of celebration. The queen was pregnant, the king would have an heir! All of the king’s closest friends were invited to the feast, and all of the Hobbits were exceedingly happy. In the Great Hall, a party raged. At the center of the dance floor, were three elves whom Sam didn’t recognize. Two had skin the color of tree bark and wine red hair, and they were dancing with the fairest elf Sam had ever seen. They had skin the color of honey milk and hair that fell like a waterfall of moonlight down a gently curved back. Eyes the color of mithril glittered with happiness. A familiarity tugged at the back of Sam’s conscious. A gasp beside him from Pippin alerted Sam to the fact that Pippin seemed to know who the elves were.

 

‘Legolas!’ Pippin called. The fair elf turned his head, seemingly crowned by the stars, and a beautiful smile lifted his lips. He pulled the wine-haired elves with him to the Hobbits.

 

‘Young Peregrin! You look well, I am glad for it!’ It was the voice that made Sam recognize the elf, and he gasped. Legolas was exactly as the story had described, though he was much kinder.

 

‘Legolas! You, too, look. . . more than well,’ Pippin countered.

 

‘Thank you, that is kind! Oh! I must introduce you to my brothers! So skilled are they, and so comely as well, that they have long been compared to Maedhros the Tall!’

 

‘Wasn’t he a kinslayer. . . ?’ Merry asked, remembering the tales Gandalf would tell of the elves.

 

‘Indeed, but he was much more. He raised Lord Elrond, you know. But that is besides the point! This is Aglaron, Crown Prince of Eryn Lasgalen and the eldest of my brothers, renowned for his skills in combat and diplomacy. And this is Curulaeron, well known for his voice and dance! He is the younger twin,’ Legolas introduced.

 

‘We are pleased to meet you,’ said the twins as they bowed in unison.

 

The elves all bowed and went back to dancing, safe in the knowledge that their brother was home and all the better for it.

**Author's Note:**

> That was a really weak ending but I don't know how else to end it. Thanks for reading!
> 
> I'm going to assume that Middle Earth has priests and priestesses for the Valar, but if they don't this is already AU so just go along with it.
> 
> I don't own Lord of The Rings or associated characters and worlds. I only own the concept of this story.


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